In the left side of my back, the . The grassy suburban street; beyond, the flat bungalow façade. (She trampled with pleasure, and kept up her starling chatter).

Each piece from Schmidt is a tutorial in a new vision, a wonderful departure into the inseams of language and literature. The novellas appeared hardly that, more like stories out for a stroll, lunatics on the lawn. Each one possessed an upright, someone who didn't believe Pravda and saw that rent-to-own was a sham and would end in fire, misery and the Red Hordes. There were a few pieces: Goethe and Tina -- which indulged my book nerdedness to the extent that my heart hurt -- it swelled and stung with such sweet sympathy for the lonely book people. Come gather and climb on board. The reader's satisfied tears will be a worthy destination. ( )